


Chair

by Caius



Series: That TFP MegOP Porn AU [5]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Human Furniture, M/M, Objectification, Self-Reprogramming, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Subspace, aft port, not really human but still furniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/pseuds/Caius
Summary: Sometimes, Optimus needs more, or rather, he needs to be less. Megatron and Soundwave help.Human furniture kink (or bot furniture kink) for Spaceliquid. Originally posted on Tumblr October 18, 2015.





	Chair

When Megatron needed Optimus, he would press him against the nearest surface and take.

Most days – most months – this was everything Optimus needed. After vorns of warfare and months of careful, delicate peace, being reduced in the berthroom to a toy, a warm spike to be put where Megatron wanted it and kept there until he was satisfied, was a blissful, blissful release.

But sometimes, Optimus needed more. And when he needed it, he placed himself behind Megatron’s desk, silent and still, and waited.  
Megatron had obtained a stool after the first time they’d done this – it was all very well for Optimus to perform the role of Megatron’s desk chair, but as strong as Optimus was he would fall over if Megatron did anything vigorous with his chair’s special features.

And so, Optimus banished Megatron’s usual, serviceable desk chair to the storage closet, carefully arranged the stool just far enough from the desk to fit his folded legs in front of it, and set about becoming a chair.

There was more to being a chair than simply sitting and being sat on. He needed to be stable, but mobile, so he magnetized his stool firmly to his aft plates, then shifted back and forth, right and left, a few times, testing the angle and magnetization. Satisfied, he made his body still and turned his focus inward.

As large as Optimus was, it was often necessary for his body to be moved by bots who did not have the size or strength to lift him. Over time, he’d developed a set of physical and programming adaptations to make this easier – programs and settings that allowed joints and struts and cables to be moved from the outside, but to lock in place where they were set.

It was this set of programming called upon now, locking his joints into a default ‘chair’ position, thighs together, knees at a right angle in front of him, arms close to his sides down to the elbow, then extended in front to be the arms of the chair.

He went through each rod and strut and joint, bolt and nut, energon line and electrical wire, in turn, settling everything into a position that would both be comfortable for Megatron and possible to maintain even if Megatron kept him as a chair through several duty cycles on end. The thought thrilled him for a moment, but he did not allow himself to dwell on it.

He was a chair, doing a simple systems diagnostic, that was all.

When he finished, satisfied that everything was in place, he locked his joints, and started activating the coding, methodically entering in overrides to make his body adjustable at Megatron’s touch – a tap at his left arm, and Optimus’ chest would recline; a nudge to his right and a pair of wheels would transform into his feet, allowing his body to be more easily moved.

He combed through the his own instinctual programming as deep as he could, hacking himself so any part of his body could be moved at Megatron’s touch.

It took less time and effort, every time he did this; and some parts of him there was no need to alter. His spike primed automatically at the sight or sound of its owner; and its panel would open at tap or a word unless he specifically overrode it.

Megatron never had any trouble bringing out heat or vibration from his body but he’d made up a few subroutines, anyway, to make his reactions more like a chair with special features and less like those of a lover. He would spend time in long meetings working on these programs, yearning for the simple release of automated reactions; all he needed to do now was activate them and feel them settle into his processor as he settled deeper into his function.

He was Megatron’s chair, and he would be Megatron’s chair until he was required to be Optimus again.

A chair does not measure the passage of time; not, at least, as a Prime would. Processor cycles ticked along, systems steady, energy consumption at a minimum.

And then the sound of footsteps, the twinge of an energy field at the edge of perception – Megatron, the chair registered, and its spike started to prime, systems to warm up for use.

And then another, fainter, sound of footsteps triggered an alert in the chair programming, pulling the Prime out just long enough to read the energy signature – Soundwave.

Imperceptibly, the chair relaxed, logging the near loss of subspace for a later code patch. Megatron had no secrets from Soundwave; neither, therefore, did Megatron’s chair.

Neither Megatron nor Soundwave acknowledged the chair’s presence. They continued their conversation – or, well, Megatron continued conversing while Soundwave listened, and responded with the occasional brief quote or sine wave across his faceplate.

A firm hand casually gripped the chair’s shoulder, pushing it back so Megatron could settle his weight into it. Temperature and pressure sensors registered Megatron’s touch all across the lap and chest of the chair, and it warmed, just slightly, in pleasure.

The weight shifted, sideways, unexpectedly, and the chair queried optical sensors – Megatron was lifting Soundwave.

A lighter weight settled onto the chair arm, easy to support but tentative in its perch. Audio sensors caught a brief exchange between Megatron and Soundwave that included the name of the chair when it wasn’t a chair, but no other keywords that required it to listen. 

The weight on the arm settled a little as semiautomated systems set up a welcoming in the chair arm’s energy field. Megatron and Soundwave kept on talking. At some point, Megatron reached behind him to palm the chair’s spike panel, popping it open and guiding it into his slick valve, but while Soundwave’s field tingled a query against the chair arm, Megatron only let out a contented sigh as he settled onto the spike, and then returned to his conversation. 

Megatron’s valve was slick and burning hot, and even just embracing the spike, the chair programming and the force of will behind them were hard-pressed to override the urge to press up, to give Megatron what the hips tensors had been trained to expect him to want. 

But the chair persevered, and the quiet bliss in Megatron’s field as he gently ground onto the spike, focus still on the mech perched next to him, gave it such pleasure and contentment in function fulfilled that it only took a single flutter of powerful calipers to trigger the spike’s first overload of the session. 

“Eager chair, isn’t it?” Megatron said with a laugh, pulling the chair’s attention to the words by the use of its name. Fingers swiped over the chair’s thighs, picking up a bit of stray fluid, and the chair’s optical sensors traced them as they brought it – not as usual to Megatron’s mouth – but to press against the tip of one of Soundwave’s cables, letting him ‘taste’. 

A very very brief ping of query entered the top level of the chair’s processor: 'y/n’ and the chair answered, automatically 'y’. 

Weight shifted on top of the chair, Megatron leaning toward Soundwave and then back again as he lifted the tiny jet onto his lap. Cables shifted down between Megatron’s legs and over the chair’s lap, and Megatron started to rock over the spike again, Soundwave in his lap, arms wrapped around the slim body, to all appearances completely focused on the bot on the lap while he used the spike beneath him. 

With a pleased grunt, Megatron overloaded, sending an electrical pulse through the chair’s spike, almost causing a loss of equilibrium. By the time the chair recovered, Megatron was sliding off, and Optimus’ consciousness was tugged up again by the odd sensation of one of Soundwave’s cables wrapping around his spike, helping guide the slick length into Megatron’s aft port. 

As tight and intense as it was – calipers tight enough to leave rings in a spike’s paint job – Megatron’s back entrance was familiar and comforting. Optimus’ consciousness sank back down again, relaxing into the weight on his lap and the strong grip around his spike. 

The pressure on the front of the spike was new, though, and the tone of Megatron’s moans was different than it had been. What…?

Oh. 

Optimus couldn’t see much past Megatron’s shoulders, but from the feel of it, that was Soundwave’s cable, pleasing Megatron’s valve while Megatron used Optimus’ spike in his aft port. 

A deep pleasure built inside him at the thought of Megatron being filled that full. 

He made a note to ask Soundwave about a recording, later, and let himself slip back down.

And then there was a click and the sound of hydrolics.  

…Soundwave, Optimus knew, didn’t have a spike. 

Optimus wanted to look so badly and from the teasing touch of Megatron’s field as he squeezed down hard on Optimus’ spike and Soundwave’s cable, Megatron knew this. 

Optimus felt the charge in his own spike build hard and fast as he fought not to look, to sit in place and stay a chair even when heard the unmistakable sounds of valves – Soundwave’s valves – being touched and prepared. 

Megatron had never offered Optimus his spike, not since he was Orion. 

Optimus had never asked, either, had been satisfied – delighted – with Megatron’s fervant hunger for his spike, and the many uses he found for it. 

But, hearing the slick sounds of Soundwave being prepared, of Megatron coaxing the inner walls to retract so he could fit his spike inside, of Megatron’s spike, wrapped maybe in the same cable Soundwave had used to guide Optimus’ spike into Megatron, while he himself sat absolutely still, a steadfast support and a rod to fill Megatron’s hole….

…Optimus came harder than he had in weeks, unable entirely to restrain the jerk of his hips, filling Megatron just at the moment when he heard Megatron’s spike slip into Soundwave’s valve. 

“Megatron!” 

Optimus panicked for a moment, until he realized that his voice had come from Soundwave’s speakers, expressing Soundwave’s passion in Optimus’ words. Optimus’ spike pulsed another burst of charge and fluids in sympathetic response. 

A - slightly damp - hand pressed against Optimus’ hip. “Good chair,” Megatron rumbled, and Optimus’ spark warmed against Megatron’s chest as he relaxed a bit into his role, letting Megatron set up a pace as he ground down on Optimus’ spike and moved Soundwave up and down on his lap. 

Megatron’s valve aft was even tighter with Soundwave’s cable still stuffed in his valve and he built up to a fast, hard pace, using Optimus’ spike and Soundwave’s valve. Soundwave’s hands clung tight to Megatron’s shoulders, his thrusters dug into Optimus’ knees as he rode Megatron’s thrusts, and Optimus had the surreal experience of hearing his own pleasured sounds from Soundwave, even though the only sounds he let his body make were the low noise of engines, the slide of his spike and the purcussion of Megatron’s aft and Soundwave’s feet clanging against his lap.

It was as though Megatron were pounding into Optimus on top of the chair that was also Optimus, and…perhaps it wasn’t only Soundwave’s speakers moaning in Optimus’ voice, and it definitely wasn’t only Megatron and Soundwave’s valve fluids dripping down from between Optimus’ legs.

Optimus overloaded, again, in Megatron’s aft, and Megatron rode him through it and beyond, giving a chance for his chair to slide back into being a chair while Megatron and Soundwave fragged in an entwined embrace on top of him. 

“Optimus!” 

The chair registered that no one was sitting at it, and that its spike – though still extended and ready – was not being used. 

This, and the use of the name, pinged a query deeper into its processor. 

Optimus refocused, slowly. “Megatron,” he acknowledged, as his optical processor integrated the image of Megatron kneeling in front of him. He spread his legs slightly, and stiffly extended his hands. 

Megatron shook his head at him, fondly. “My Optimus,” he said, and wrapped Optimus in his arms, hauling him up into the air, his legs still bent 90 degrees. He reached a hand down to Optimus’ aft – or rather, to the stool attached to you. “Can you get that thing off yourself, or do you need Soundwave to take out that progamming you put in again?”

Soundwave. Soundwave must still be here, then, Optimus thought, sluggishly, and he felt a slick cable wrap around each leg, gently, straightening them out, working the stiffness out of them and letting Optimus go limp in Megatron’s arms. His feet dragged on the floor like that, but it felt good to be held. 

“Just pull,” Soundwave said, a recording Optimus did not recognize, and then, with a gentle tug at the stool, the magnetization flipped off and Optimus made a small sound of distress. He wasn’t a chair, anymore. Megatron didn’t want his chair. 

“Look at me,” Megatron commanded, and Optimus obeyed. “You were an excellent chair. But we are going to take you to berth, now.” Megatron smirked. “You can be our pillow, if you like.” He pulled Optimus in for a kiss, nibbling gently at his lips, the slight pain helping Optimus come back into himself, enough to part his lips and press closer. 

“Soundwave?” Optimus asked, starting to think again. 

The cables wrapped around his legs retreated. Megatron looked at Optimus, one optic raised.

Optimus tried to think, to consider the implications, but it seemed very simple, in the moment: Megatron wanted Soundwave there, Soundwave wanted to be with Megatron, and Optimus wanted Soundwave touching him again. “There’s room enough on my chest for you both,” Optimus pointed out.

Megatron laughed and nuzzled Optimus’ chest. “Fair enough.” He shifted his grip on Optimus so he could pull Soundwave up into his other arm, letting Soundwave cling to them both as he carried his lovers to his berth. 


End file.
